Rose Colored Glasses
by NachtcGleiskette
Summary: A collection of vignettes from Azazel's point of view, dealing with the events of Living a Life Unexpected and A Normal Life. Open for suggestions!
1. Everything Changes

These are a collection of vignettes from Azazel's point of view, which deal with the events in Living a Life Unexpected and A Normal Life.

~&Q~

He could feel her eyes on him, but didn't turn. He continued his work, sharpening his knives for the upcoming mission. She simply stood behind him, not interrupting, as if waiting for him to turn. Finally he did.

"What is it, Mystique?"

The blue woman took a seat behind him, her body language timid. It was odd, he'd not seen her this way in a long time. Her time with the Brotherhood had hardened her greatly, and right now she seemed to be closer to the girl who'd first joined years prior. "I wanted to come see you."

"You see me," he responded, going back to his sharpening. Their relationship was so odd, so hot and cold. In a way, he preferred it like that. She fought the same battles he did, he didn't want to become too close to her. It could compromise them. At the same time, they found comfort in each other frequently. They were and weren't a couple. He enjoyed her company but he didn't love her. In his work, he had no time for love. He had some semblance of a family far away, who he'd visit when he could. They weren't near this war, and he liked it that way. They were what he needed, not this.

"Yes," she hedged, playing with her fingers. "Magneto took me off the mission, you know."

"He did?" Azazel lifted a brow and turned to her again. This was an odd strategic move. Mystique's powers were invaluable, as were his. They were never removed from a mission.

"Yes," she responded, not meeting his eye.

"Stupid of him," Azazel turned back to his work. "You can get inside, find information. He expect us to go in blind?"

"I'm not fit for duty," she told him.

He shook his head. "Magneto makes stupid decisions. Not fit. How are you not fit?"

"Because I'm pregnant."

Azazel felt the blood rush from his face as her statement settled in. Pregnant? He turned slowly to her, eyes wide. Mystique's own eyes were full of fear. "It's why my powers have been so out of whack. And why I've been so tired. I'm pregnant, four months is what they're telling me."

"You are-" he let out a huge breath, feeling punched in the gut. He dropped his knives and his hands moved to rub his eyes. "How can this be? We have been careful-" he paused as he went over their sexual encounters in his head. They _had_ been careful, hadn't they?

"I don't know," she shrugged, looking down. "But it happened. I'm pregnant, going to have a baby."

"A baby," he let out another breath, as if the revelation that a baby would be the result of this pregnancy was a surprise. He felt unsteady and was grateful he was already sitting. She was having a baby, she was having _his _baby. He would be a father. "Ebanatyi pidaraz."

"I don't know what to do here," she started.

His head snapped to her. "What you mean?"

"With a baby. What the hell are we going to do with a baby, Azazel?" tears formed in her eyes. Azazel saw the girl from the past more clearly now.

He shook his head. Deep inside him he felt a resolve. What were they going to do? The answer was simple. Raise the child. He'd long ago given up the concept of ever getting married and having children. It seemed unreasonable in this world. He had little desire to marry Mystique, but he wouldn't abandon her. And he certainly wouldn't abandon the child. This baby had no choice, he was put there by his parents. While Azazel would have happily never had children, never brought a mutant child into this world that was so unfair, he would take care of one who was given. "We will have baby and take care of it," he moved to her side, tenderly caressing his hand through her hair.

"How on Earth are we going to do that? In a place like this?" she lifted her hands to indicate the Brotherhood. It was not an ideal place for an infant, that was sure.

"We go somewhere else. The three of us," his hand moved to her stomach. "I can take job that will get us money. And we leave here, find our own way."

"I can't just leave Magneto," she shook her head. He was angered slightly by this admission, but he knew how much Magneto meant to her. He decided not to argue, rather wait. Once the baby was born, she'd make the right decisions. Whether they stayed or went, they'd do right by the child.

"We will figure out," he said gently, his hand still rubbing over her stomach. "Moya rebenok."

As he sat beside her, his mind wandered back to a long forgotten conversation with Margali. As young adults, first truly coming into their own, just after she'd started dating Johan. Discussing their intentions for their lives to come. He'd filed this conversation and everything attached to it away long ago as an impossibility, but now it seemed to fit. She told him, she looked forward to marrying one day, and hoped Johan would be the one. They'd have two children, a boy and a girl, and life would be perfect. Azazel remembered his own thoughts on the future back then, meeting a woman who he'd spend his life with, and filling it with children. As many as they could have. He'd let go of these domestic goals a long time ago, as he watched her meet hers completely he was sure his were destined not to be. He was on the cusp of forty and had no intentions, and now he would be a father in a matter of months. His mind wandered to a small house in the hills, large sprawling property, filled with the laughter of children. Would they be blue or red? Maybe some blue and some red. Maybe purple. Who knew? But he let himself have the fantasy right now, because for the first time in over a decade, it seemed possible.

~&Q~

Hope you enjoyed! I have many more to come. If anyone has had something they wanted to see, had a question about anything, leave it in the reviews or PM me. I enjoy writing these vignettes by suggestion, it's a great exercise, especially when dealing with writers block on the main fic. I won't guarantee every suggestion will be written, but I will do my best!


	2. Daddy Day Care

Kurt's head turned from him to the door as his mother exited. "Mamaaaa?" he whined and squirmed in Azazel's arms.

"Shhh, is ok," he tried to soothe the boy. "We have special time today da?"

The baby's lip began to quiver as tears fell down his cheeks. "Mama!" he cried, squirming further.

Azazel's heart broke minutely as he let the boy down, Kurt crawling to the door. The infant continued to cry as he held onto the door to lift himself onto his feet, banging a hand against it. "Mama mama!"

"Moya mal'chik," Azazel sighed, sitting on the floor. "Mama will be home soon. Is time with Daddy."

The boy's cries seemed to escalate. Azazel found himself jumping up to look out the window quickly. He didn't want Moira to hear. He could see her rushing back in and declaring him an unfit father, and that would be the end of it.

"Dorogaya," Azazel began, moving closer to his son. Kurt had fallen on his behind, his cries slowing but still steady. Azazel caught a toy out of the corner of his eye, one that he knew Kurt loved. "Look," he picked it up and danced it around him. "See? Look at toy."

Kurt watched him uneasily. Azazel continued to make the toy dance. Finally, Kurt reached out and swatted at it playfully. "BA!"

"You don't hit friend!" Azazel said playfully. He moved the toy closer to Kurt and tickled his tummy with it. Kurt giggled a bit and swatted it again. "BA!"

Azazel's eyes went comically wide. "You be careful, don't want to make toy angry."

Kurt moved closer and hit it again. "BA!"

"Uh oh, he is not happy," he shook the toy as if it were becoming agitated.

"BA!" Kurt smacked it again, giggling.

"Oh no, he is going to attack!" Azazel moved the toy to Kurt again, tickling him and knocking him gently backward. Kurt laughed that hearty baby laugh that made Azazel smile. He continued to tickle until Kurt calmed, his hands pulling at the toy. "We have good day today, eh moya sladkaya?"

~&Q~

The day had been wonderful, Azazel loved being able to take care of Kurt on his own. He of course appreciated Moira, he had no idea where his son would be today if it wasn't for her. She'd taken him in, raised him as her own, and the boy had so far had a clearly fabulous life. Azazel had a deep respect for her, and he was thankful his son had found someone like that. Mystique couldn't have been half the mother Moira was.

He decided, to show his gratitude, to get some things done around the house. There was no reason Moira should have to clean after coming home. He found some chicken in the freezer and began cooking as well. When his son's mother came home, she seemed shocked at all he had done. He wasn't sure why she was, why wouldn't he do these things?

After dinner, he let her sit on the couch with Kurt while he cleaned up. Once he was done, he wasn't exactly sure what to do with himself.

"You can join us," she told him.

He came and sat in a chair by them. "You did good today," she said. "He's happy."

"Am happy to make him happy," Azazel reached out and stroked the boys head. "If I can work to make him happy every day, will make me feel good."

Moira smiled at him, then reached out and grabbed his hand. Her brow furrowed at the dressing, clearly unmoved. "Have you changed this?"

He looked to his injury with a shrug. "No?"

"You have to change it, it'll get infected," she handed Kurt over and stood with a sigh. She grabbed a few items from the bathroom and came back in. Kneeling beside him, she took his hand again. "In your line of work, how can you not know even the most basic first aid?"

Azazel shrugged, looking away. "Never need it."

"That's why you're so scarred up," she said. He could feel her manipulating the injury, wiping it with a wet cloth. "You'll have a hard time chasing after our son with one hand."

Azazel smiled. That was the first time she'd referred to Kurt as _theirs_. It was an important validation to him, that she was willing to make this cooperative. His eye traveled back to her, as she finished the bandaging. "There," she finished with the tape. "All done." She gave him a smile, and then went about putting away the supplies.

He flexed his hand a bit, his other one around his son. There was something about her smile. She was a beautiful woman, but she was a _human_. Still. There was something about that smile.


	3. Printsessa

Moira slept, as she rightfully should. He couldn't imagine the pain the woman had been through, the torture. He felt unworthy as he looked upon her. Why did he deserve to have someone like her in his life? And what had he done to deserve to have this woman, this strong, independent, beautiful woman give him a child?

A small squak alerted him to the bassinet on her side of the bed. Azazel moved silently to its side, gazing down at the tiny being within. His daughter. A child made with intention, a child who's life was created by two people who loved each other. A little girl who was wanted even before she existed. He watched this tiny infant squirm a bit in its swaddling, little limbs moving beneath blankets. Her face began to screw up and little whines began. He didn't want to wake Moira, not yet. She'd been through enough and needed her rest.

"Shhhh," he soothed, his hand cradling her small head. "Shhhh is alright."

The baby thrashed a bit and her whines escalated. Azazel put his other hand down, cupping one under her head and the other under her body to lift her out, but was stopped by a fear. What if he hurt her? As he lifted only slightly, her body seemed to turn and flop in every way, her head unsteady. God, what would he do if he hurt her? She was smaller and more delicate than anything he'd ever put his hands on before. He remembered when Stefan and Jimaine had been born, they were tiny things. Margali or Johan would swaddle them well and pass them to him to hold. His breathing pitched and his heart seized as he realized his responsibility. He was in charge of making sure this girl was safe. He'd be charged with this until the day he died. Now, as this unsteady newborn squirmed in his hands, still against the bassinet, he felt unworthy. He didn't know how to take care of a newborn. He didn't know what a little girl would need.

The infant had begun to cry, and Azazel turned his attention to her again. A teardrop fell against the girl's cheek, not her own. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Azazel carefully lifted the child from the bassinet and settled her in his arms. It seemed to take forever to get her settled correctly, and he still worried if he were doing it right. What if her neck bent the wrong way? What if he pinched her leg? After a few seconds of squirming, the baby quieted in her father's arms. Her eyes were open, darting around a bit, but at once caught his own. Azazel gasped as her crystal blue eyes looked into his, and he felt more tears fall down his cheeks.

"Moya printsessa," he said to her. Her mother was his Queen. This girl was his Princess. He'd swear his life to her. "I am your Daddy, kraseevaya devochka."

She stared at him, in a way that seemed to judge him. It was as if she were measuring him. Did he deserve to be her father? Was he capable of taking care of her? As unreasonable as this thought process Azazel had was, he prayed she'd find him suitable. He wanted to be.

The girl shifted again, this time the swaddling coming loose in order for her tiny tail to sneak out. It found his wrist and wrapped itself around it, only making it halfway around. He let out a little laugh, feeling this moment to be an enormous validation. She wanted him.

Azazel shifted her just slightly, sitting gently with her on the bed. His eyes went from her to her mother and back. The girl took after Moira quite a bit. He was grateful. Moira was beautiful, the most beautiful woman in his world. He was happy his daughter had taken after her, in ways he was ashamed to admit. This girl's only expression of mutation was the tail, which Azazel loved. The validation that she was his. He knew that regardless of what this child looked like, she was his, it wasn't a question of his wife's fidelity. It was for him. He needed validation, to feel connected to his child. The tail was that. The rest, however, was her mother. It was clear she'd also inherited his eyes, though combined with her skin tone they looked far less mutant. The girl was nearly entirely human, a tail the only mutant quality she had. It shamed Azazel to realize that this was an answer to a secret prayer. The things he'd seen and the things he'd been through because of what he was, they were not what he'd wish upon his children. Kurt had been born of two mutants, there was little hope he'd be anything but. With this girl, the pendulum swung between human and mutant, and she could have been either. It scared Azazel how much he wished for her to be human, considering how hard he'd fought against them and how many years he'd spent despising them. Yet, when it came to his daughter, his wish was for her to be healthy, happy, and live a good life. Something that wasn't a guarantee for a mutant.

Still, regardless of what she was, the most important thing she was was his daughter. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to her head, his lips barely brushing for fear of hurting her. "You are everything," he told her. She was. She'd never know how deeply her father loved her. She'd never understand how much her father had changed the moment he'd first seen her, and now in this first moment he'd held her. As he looked again to his wife, he knew she'd never know how much she'd done for him, how much she'd saved his life. He didn't need for them to know. He just needed them to be in his life.

The girl closed her eyes, growing content in her father's arms. Azazel mused at the fact that these hands, which for so long had been solely for the violent end of lives, could be gentle enough to cradle a new one. His lip quivered as he set her again in the bassinet, swearing to her that she'd never feel pain in her life, if he could help it. She'd never face hardship or grief. He'd protect her from everything. He was her father, and she was his world.

~&Q~

Glad to see people enjoying this fic! I have a bunch of these to post, and will be posting them here and there out of order. Again, if anyone has anything they want to see, I am enjoying writing these and would love to hear it!


	4. Camping

Azazel watched as his wife left the room, hearing a door slam down the hall. She was right, there was no doubt about it. He'd been unfair to his son, and let him suffer over something that wasn't his fault. But he couldn't help how he felt. His daughters were rays of sunshine, pure light in his life. They were the embodiment of his love for their mother, the commitment they'd made to be with each other. Two people he'd created out of love, who years prior, in another life, he could never have imagined existing. Innocent and beautiful, he felt like every bit of good he'd ever had in him was divided between the two.

Then there was his son. He loved Kurt, there was no doubt about that. He'd give his life for the boy, as he would for his daughters. But the light Kurt brought into his world wasn't pure. It was tarnished with the memory of Mystique and that time in his life. The hurt and betrayal from a woman he never thought he could forgive. Though, Moira has made a point. Were it not for Kurt, where would he be? Certainly not here, married to a woman who had made him happier than he once thought possible, father to two unbelievable little girls and a new child who he counted down the days until he'd meet. Azazel put his face in his hands as he felt an immense shame. He was failing his son. He was being selfish, putting his own feelings above the boy's and it made him angry at himself.

After a few moments of self-pity, he stood with a resolve to fix his flimsy relationship with Kurt. It wouldn't happen overnight, but he wouldn't do this anymore. Kurt was his flesh and blood as much as Christine or Cynthia, and he deserved to be the unfettered light that they were. Mystique's shadow had no place any longer, regardless of how much Kurt looked like the woman as he aged. She was the past, and Kurt's mother was Moira, his wife and soul mate. He didn't deserve to be treated differently.

He headed into the garage to begin collecting things. A few teleports to a few places gathered other necessities. By the time he was finishing up his preparations, the sun was coming up. As always, Christine was the early waker, lumbering out of her room rubbing her eyes and dragging a stuffed animal behind her. "Daddy?" she inquired as she came into the room. "What're you doing?"

"Getting ready for trip with Kurt, printsessa," he told her, then lifted her into his arms for a morning kiss.

"Can I come?" she asked him. He had a hard time ever saying no to his daughters, but especially to her. She was his princess, his first born with Moira and his first daughter. She had inherited so much from her mother, with just enough from him that he could see himself in her. In his eyes, she was the perfect meld of them.

"Nyet," he told her. "Is for Daddy and Kurt only. You get to stay with Mommy and have girl night." Her face scrunched up a bit and he knew she was going to argue, so he bounced her slightly in his arms and turned to the kitchen. "Hungry? How about Daddy make pop tart for you?"

"Yeah!" Christine nodded emphatically. He hated feeding the kids garbage like this, but they kept it in the house for easy meals. In this case, he knew it'd stop her line of questioning at least.

He let the girl down and went about toasting the pastry. At this point Cynthia had joined them and he loaded another into the toaster and gave the girl a quick good morning cuddle. Sometimes he found himself musing over things like this. The man he was today. Leagues away from the man he once was, and nowhere near what he ever thought he'd become. Yet happier than he'd ever thought possible.

"Dad?" Kurt was standing in the doorway, and Azazel turned to him with Cynthia still in his arms.

"Morning mal'chik," he greeted the boy with a smile. "Sleep well?"

Kurt shrugged, sitting at the table. He looked at the packs of things Azazel had piled in the corner. "What's all that?"

"We're going camping," Azazel told him, letting Cynthia down. He handed her and her sister each a pop tart and they ran out of the room to the television.

"Camping?" Kurt asked.

"Da," he responded. "Just for night, and just us men. We camp by lake and go fishing. Will be fun."

The little boy's mouth curled up a bit. "Ok."

Azazel smiled as well. He leaned over and gave him a kiss on the head, ruffling his hair a bit. In the other room he heard Christine chatting away to his wife and he stood. "Mommy's awake. We get ready and leave soon."

Kurt nodded and stood, heading to grab a few things from his room. Azazel watched him go and suddenly felt lighter. It was time to create new memories with his son, ones that were nothing but light.

~&Q~

Probably one of the only times this fic will coincide with the main fic. I have a ton more to post in here, lots of backstory with his mother, Shaw, Emma and Margali. It'll come soon!


	5. Ends and Beginnings

Years ago, on the beaches of Cuba...

He watched as the body of the man he'd followed fell limply to the sand. Azazel was at war with his feelings. Shaw was a figurehead, but he wasn't the cause. Azazel wasn't even sure he agreed with all of Shaw's beliefs, but really anything that led to the safety and security of mutants was something he could get behind. Of course, Shaw was interested in human extinction, not something Azazel himself would come up with, but not something he cared enough about to stop. Humans had never been anything but problems for him, costing him his youth and some of his greatest relationships. The only humans who had ever treated him with any decency were ones who were as outcast as he, humans whom humanity decided were less than. It made him angry toward humanity in general.

The other one spoke as he floated down from the submarine. Azazel knew little about him, except his powers were magnetic in nature. He was on the other side of this battle, the one with the telepath and the blue girl. His words made sense, that they wasted time fighting with each other while the enemy was humans. It was something he agreed with. Mutants needed to band together, this infighting would only lead to failure. His eye again traveled to the blue girl. There was something about her that intrigued him. He'd lived his entire life knowing only himself as a mutant who's mutation was physically expressed. The feeling he felt was like relief. He wasn't alone. There were others like him, who understood what it was like to be this kind of mutant. The hardships they faced over the ones of those who could pass.

The blue girl caught his eye, then looked away quickly, back to the magnetic man. Large booms suddenly sounded and he turned then to the navy ships. They'd unloaded their missiles in their direction. His first instinct was to teleport away, but he couldn't leave his comrades on the beach. They were scattered, and he ran to the closest one, Angel, before being hit with a thought. Could he leave _anyone_ on the beach? Whether they were friends or not, he couldn't leave any mutant to die. His thoughts were interrupted now by a struggle between the telepath and the magnetic man. The missiles exploded far from the beach in waves, and he took a breath. Perhaps they were safe from this threat. Still, he preferred if they'd move closer together in case they did need to escape. He took Angel's arm and guided her closer to Janos, and in turn guided them both close to the blue girl. She wasn't on their side per se, but he was drawn to her. He couldn't leave her behind.

There was a gunshot and Azazel looked up instinctively. A woman with dark hair had a gun trained on the magnetic man. He recognized her as the CIA agent, the _human_ they had decided to work with. As she let bullets fly at this man, Azazel found the oddest feeling of respect. This human fearlessly put herself in this situation. She had no defense against the mutants around her, and could easily be killed by any one of them. Thoughtlessly. She had a gun, which was meaningless. She should be on the navy ships, fighting against them, but she stood with them. The fact she was using a gun against a mutant was an act of aggression, but one that Azazel understood. She was defending the telepath. And she put herself in a precarious situation, using metal against a metal manipulator. The magnetic man deflected the bullets, one of which seemed to hit the telepath and he crumpled to the floor.

"Charles?!" the human dropped her gun. The magnetic man ran to the telepath, Charles', side and angrily began to choke the human. It was her bullet that had struck the man. Azazel felt an injustice, in that this woman should be blamed for a mistake, one exacerbated by the man who was trying to execute her for it. He almost found himself ready to step in, but the telepath did. The human ran to his side.

The magnetic man gave them a choice that day. Which way to go. Azazel had no interest in going with the telepath, and the blue girl's choice of joining the magnetic man cemented his. He had no interest in diplomacy with humans. Yet, as they teleported away, his eye fell once more on the human on the beach. Perhaps, if there were more humans like her, the world would be more tolerable.


	6. An Impossible Choice

Coincides with Moira going to the hospital in A Normal Life.

~&Q~

He stared into his hands, unsettled by their color. He hated this contraption, but he needed it and found himself thanking Xavier for the first time ever. It came in handy in this situation, but this was a situation he never wanted.

"Mr. Wagner?"

He barely knew the name. It wasn't his, it wasn't anyone's. It was a façade created to keep his family safe. Looking up finally, a doctor met his eye.

"Yes, is me," he stood and rushed over. He hated this, needing the help of humans. Being at their mercy. But what could he do? His wife had been admitted. He just needed to be sure she was safe and get her out. "Is she ok? Can I take her?"

"I'm afraid not," the doctor gave him a grim look. "We have a serious situation on our hands."

Azazel's heart sank. "Serious? What is serious?"

Talking a breath, the doctor continued. "The baby is dying. We're doing what we can to save it, but the harder we work to save the baby, the more we lose your wife." The man paused.

"What you mean you lose my wife?" Azazel's lips drew back. "You save her. Your job is save her and baby!"

"We can only do what we can, Mr. Wagner. There are other forces at play here," the doctor let out a breath. "Right now we've stabilized them, but it's very temporary. They're both in dire straits. We may be able to save the baby, and that's a very minute chance, but it would be at the expense of your wife."

Azazel shook his head, moving backward until he fell into the chair. "Nyet."

"I'm here, Mr. Wagner, because I can't make this decision. You have to. We can save your baby or we can save your wife. You need to tell me what you want us to do."

Azazel's head snapped to the man. Could he possibly be asking him to choose? Between the life of his child and the life of his wife? How could he do that? The doctor's face was kind, seemed to understand the war Azazel had inside him now. He thought about what Moira would want. She'd want the baby to live, Azazel was sure of it. But then, he thought of his other children. He thought of having to raise them without their mother. He was horrified by the simple thought of waking up in an empty bed. Never seeing his soul mate again.

But he was this child's father. Could he let them go? Could he sentence his own baby to death to save his wife? Was that selfish?

He chose his words carefully. "If baby is saved, will all be ok?"

"We don't know," the doctor responded.

"What if wife is saved?"

The doctor shook his head. "We are not certain. We think she can pull through. The baby is early. Even if we save it, there's a long road of recovery. It won't be out of the woods for a long time."

"But there is chance?" Azazel's expression turned desperate.

"Mr. Wagner, there is always a chance."

His heart broke. This was an impossible situation to be in. But as much as he wanted this baby, as much as he loved this baby, he couldn't do it. He couldn't let his wife die for it. He couldn't let his children lose their mother. Turning his eyes away from the doctor, feeling shame and cowardice and even selfishness in his decision, he said, "Save my wife."

The doctor nodded and turned away, back to the operating room. Azazel put his face in his hands and cried for his child


	7. The Youngest

Takes place between Living a Life Unexpected and A Normal Life:

"Daddy you can't put that one there," Kurt took the small pegs out of Azazel's hand. "It's a dinosaur, he's supposed to be green."

"Dinosaur can be purple," Azazel countered as his son replaced the purple pegs with green.

Kurt gave him a look as if he were stupid. "Dad, dinosaurs are green. It says in my book."

Azazel shrugged and sat back to watch as Kurt finished his masterpiece. His eye turned to Christine who was sitting with them, but narrowed at the expression on her face. "What's in your mouth?"

The little girl moved to stand, trying to toddle away from her father but he caught her. "Open, Christine," he dug a finger in and pulled out a few of the pegs. With a sigh he returned them to Kurt's pile. "Are not candy, printsessa."

"Ew, these are all gross!" Kurt made a face at the wet pegs. "Thanks a lot, Christine!"

Christine's face sank and Azazel bounced her. "Dadda," she whined, turning her face into his neck. Maybe she was due for a nap. He stood to bring her into the other room, but before he had a chance the front door opened and now Christine was excited. "Mommy!" She bounced and pulled from her father to reach for her mother.

"My beauty," Moira took the girl into her arms giving her a kiss. Azazel gave her a welcome kiss as well, but as he pulled away his smile melted at her expression.

"I have to talk to you," she told him seriously.

He nodded, as Moira let Christine down on the floor again. She motioned toward their bedroom, and Azazel turned to Kurt. "Don't let Christine touch."

"She can't play with any of it, she's a baby," he responded. Azazel hated when Kurt had such rude responses about his sister, but he didn't want to take the time to correct him now. Whatever Moira had to say was important.

She threw her bag on the bed and sat, Azazel sitting with her. "What is it?"

"I'm pregnant," she told him, not looking up to meet his eye. Azazel took a breath, his lips curling into a smile. He moved off the bed to kneel in front of her.

"Pregnant?" He smiled wide as his hands moved to her stomach, as if he could feel the baby there. She put her hands over his. Azazel looked up and his expression fell as he took in hers.

Moira gave him a sad smile, but shook her head. "We can't have a baby yet, Alek. We're not ready."

He moved again to sit beside her, putting his arms around her. "We are. We will be. Baby is here," he put his hand on her stomach again. "Our baby."

"I know," she sighed, her eyes tearing. "It's hard, Alek. It's so hard. Christine is just two. Being pregnant and dealing with her and Kurt and everything else. What if I end up bedridden again?"

Azazel was hit with a sense of guilt. Moira's pregnancy with Christine he knew was harder than average. She was sick all the time and had spent the final month in bed before the baby came early. He wondered often if it was because she was carrying a mutant child. As a human, was that more taxing? Was it selfish to ask her to carry his children? But at the same time, they loved each other. She carried his child willingly. She wanted Christine as much as he did. But with the new one, she seemed unsure.

"We will make it work," he told her. "What choice do we have? Baby is there." He gathered her closer to him. "Maybe baby boy this time? Or another girl. As beautiful as her mother and sister."

Moira smiled a bit against him. "How can you be sure it will work?"

"Anything we do together will work," he told her. His hand rubbed over her stomach lovingly. "Everything we do so far has worked. This will too. And in few months, we'll have new little one to love."

They sat in an embrace for a while. He was filled with an immense gratitude. He was a lucky man.


	8. Zvyozdochka

Azazel sat up in bed, another sleepless night becoming apparent. He turned to his wife, who thankfully was sleeping well. At this stage in her pregnancy, he knew from last time, Moira's sleep was fitful at best, nonexistent at worst. He worried greatly for her, as he had before. Knowing how hard the weeks leading up to Christine's birth made him incredibly nervous. The new child, if they had their timeline right, would be born in less than a month. The excitement was certainly growing – would it be a boy or girl? Would it look more like him or more like it's mother? He loved that his daughter took so much after his wife, as anyone should be so lucky to be so beautiful. But he also delighted in seeing a part of him in her, and he hoped at least the new baby would inherit a small part of him.

His wife adjusted herself with a sigh, and her belly now pointed slightly in his direction. A lump appeared on the side, and moved to the front before disappearing. He smiled and placed his hand gently on her stomach.

"Trying to get out?" he whispered to his unborn. "In time, moya zvyozdochka."

The baby reached out again, poking against him. He leaned close and kissed Moira's belly, rubbing again. It was unbelievable, still, to think they had made this being. That the two of them had collaborated on a human. Even though this was the second they'd made together, it still boggled his mind. Here he was going to become a father the third time over, and still he was as mind blown by the entire situation as he had in the beginning.

He knew his wife felt the same, though she had a far different experience than he did. She lived day to day with their child inside her, and he felt at times there wasn't enough he could do for her to thank her. The sacrifices she'd made for his children, from the moment she found Kurt and now to carrying their latest were unbelievable. He knew she didn't do them for him. She did them for their children, because she was their mother. It was a concept at times he still struggled with, but loved her for all the more.

His mother, when he took the time to think about her, was distant. He remembered very little about her. She'd been gone so long at this point. He loved her dearly, and yearned for her attention, but she gave little of it. She took care of him, there was no doubt about that. He was always well looked after. But she lacked the deep connection with him that Moira had with his children. He didn't like to think of his mother in relation to the mother of his children, it seemed like an unfair comparison. Yet there were some times the comparison drew itself. He remembered when Kurt was a few years younger and had scraped his knee. How Moira had consoled him as he cried, lovingly cleaning and placing a bandaid over the wound before placing a little kiss on it 'to make it better.' Then she'd sat with him on the couch, holding him in her arms. Protecting him, and letting him know that regardless of the hurt he'd feel, Mommy would always be there to make it feel better. He couldn't help but remember his own experience, his mother placing sterile gauze over a wound and ignoring his cries. Simply placing a hand on his shoulder when she was done, before turning away. He wiped his own tears and learned that his hurt was his own burden to bear.

His own feelings about his children furthered his confusion over his mother. Finding Kurt, he wanted nothing more than to spend every moment he could with the boy. He felt the need to be connected to him, and longed to be in his life. Seeing his daughter born unearthed emotions in him he had no idea he had. He wanted to protect her from every type of harm in the world, wrap her in bubble wrap and let nothing get in between. His feelings for his children were so strong they were almost overwhelming. He had no idea he _could _feel such strong feelings until he became a father.

Which made him all the sadder about his mother. He never had considered her a bad mother, until he had children of his own. He'd loved her with all his heart. But he didn't understand her anymore. He didn't understand how one could be so unfeeling to their own flesh. She'd carried him inside her, he was a _part _of her. How she could be so unfeeling toward him unnerved him. There was a part of him that was scared more was going on. He knew that he was part of this training program, but he hated to think his mother had much to do with it, short of agreeing to it. How could she? She didn't know she was having a mutant child until he was born, surely.

Azazel let out a sigh and laid back into bed. He turned to face his wife, and found her to be awake, watching him. He frowned. "Did I wake you?"

"No," she responded with a yawn. "Your son or daughter did." Moira placed her hand on her stomach. "My kidney got a nice swift kick. I think it's my kidney at least."

Azazel put his hand over hers. He could see a little ripple in her belly as the baby moved. His eye moved to Moira's again. "Thank you."

She lifted a brow. "For what?"

"For being my children's mother," he told her. "For carrying two of them and taking another in."

Moira leaned into him to give him a kiss. "Thank _you _for being their father." She shifted and pulled away from him, swinging her legs off the bed. "And thank _you_ for leaning on my bladder." She addressed her stomach.

Azazel smiled as he watched his wife waddle to the bathroom. He turned in bed and stared at the ceiling. He loved how even their relationship was, and how appreciated each was by the other. As he stared ahead, he thought of his mother one last time, hoping that perhaps the man he was would make her proud. He also wondered why it mattered.

~&Q~

I hope you all are enjoying these little side stories from Azazel's point of view. I must say, I never expected when I started for this fic to become as big as it has, and creating smaller satellite fics for it.

Review if you like it!


	9. Second Family

The sun had set five times since he'd left. He was cold and tired and didn't know where to go. He knew he couldn't go home. He had no idea what had happened, everything went so quickly. There was this incredible impulse to run as fast as he could, he hadn't even taken a second to look for his mother. As he watched his home burn from the hillside during his escape, it seemed unlikely she'd made it out. It seemed unlikely anyone did. He'd cried in the past few days until he literally had no more tears to shed.

He'd used what he'd learned to keep himself alive. Finding water and food. Still, his grief made it difficult to focus on survival. They hadn't prepared him for that, for being in such pain in such a situation. It brought him to this moment, where he let himself collapse beside a small brook, weak from the past days' events. Usually, he knew better than to plant himself in a place that was so open, but at the moment he didn't care. He just wanted to rest. As he was just getting comfortable, a rock hit him in the side of the head. "Ow!" He jumped up into a defensive stance, scowling in the direction it had come from. A girl stood there, only maybe a few years younger than him. She held another rock in her other hand. "Why'd you throw that?" he growled at her.

She narrowed her eyes in confusion. "You speak Russian?"

"Yes," he scratched his head, feeling a small lump. "What else would I speak?"

The girl shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "I thought you'd speak in Romani. When apparitions appear, they usually talk the way I talk."

"Apparition?" he scrunched his nose. "What's that?"

"A visiting spirit," she told him. "Sometimes it's a person who died, but also it can be evil or even a demon." She wound her arm back with the rock in hand. "I know how to handle you, so don't try anything."

"I'm not an apparition!" he told her. "Don't throw that at me!"

"What are you then?" she demanded.

Alek shrugged. "A boy," he told her.

She regarded him very carefully, then relaxed her stance. "You don't look like a boy."

"I am," he argued. "I never knew I was anything else at least."

"If you're a boy," she started. "Why are you alone? Where's your family?"

He took a breath as he felt newfound tears in his eyes. Alek turned away from her as they began to spill. "I don't know. My home got burned down by bad men. I haven't seen my Mama since then."

The girl frowned at him, and finally dropped the rock. She came close and took his hand. "Don't cry," she started. "I'm sorry I threw a rock at you."

He sniffled and wiped his eyes with the other hand, still avoiding her gaze. The girl bent around trying to catch his eye. "I'm Margali," she told him. "What's your name?"

"Aleksandr," he told her. She smiled warmly at him.

"Well, that's not a demon name for sure," she said. "It's definitely a boy name."

Alek nodded, finally the tears drying up. He took a deep breath and let go of her hand.

"Are you hungry?" she asked him. "My Mama is making stew and it's really good. She always makes extra."

Alek nodded again. "Ok."

Margali smiled at him, and took his hand once again. "Come on, then."


	10. Shaw

The season was ending, and Aleksandr was rushing to gather together the loose ropes and items before heading to the evening party. He waved off a few of the performers who headed to their trailers and wound up the last rope before packing it away. As he turned to the exit of the tent, he froze at the shadow standing there. As the being came into view, his first impulse was to teleport away.

"Don't," the figure commanded, as if reading his mind. Alek rose a brow at the man who strode towards him. He'd never had any experience with civilians, at least none that ended particularly well. Their reactions to him in his early years with the circus had made him learn to hide well. The man's nonchalance over his looks confused Alek. "I've come to see you."

"Who are you?" he asked the man.

"A friend," the man told him. "You may not believe that now, but you will understand eventually. I am a friend to all of our kind."

"Our kind?" Alek's brow quirked again. He had no idea what the man meant by 'our kind'. He wasn't Russian, he didn't speak like a Roma, and he wasn't with the circus.

"Mutants," the man walked closer, stopping right before Aleksandr. "You do know what you are, don't you?"

Alek turned away from him, uneasy at the man's words. "I am a man."

A hand grabbed his shoulder, and Alek turned back sharply. "You are far more than a man," the strange man told him. "Far, far more. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying to you."

Alek took the hand from his shoulder and glared the man in the eye. "I am to take your word? A man I've never seen before, who comes to me to tell he knows what I am better than me?"

"You've never even heard the word before, I'm sure," the man told him. "Mutant. Most people don't even know we exist." He paused. "Did you ever wonder why you were different? My boy, you are _extraordinary. _By far one of the most interesting I have met. I don't presume to know you better than yourself, son, but I know more about what you are than you do. I'd like to teach you more in fact."

Alek made a face. His interest was piqued, but something about this man made him wary. "Don't think I am interested."

The other man shrugged. "Very well," he replied. "Maybe not today. One day, however, you are going to want more answers than you're getting. One day, your life with this circus, life in hiding, will not be enough." He paused, giving Alek a fierce look in the eyes. "One day you are going to have to explain to your children why you didn't do anything to make the world a better place for them."

He furrowed his brow, the man's words hitting him. In the back of his mind, he'd always had the idea of one day having a family. It seemed with every passing year, that became less of a possibility, though this made him consider it again. Would he want his children to live like this? In fear of those around them? _Hiding_? Not knowing truly what they are?

The man held out a small card to Alek. "When you can no longer go on without answers," he said. "You know where to find me."

Alek took it and watched the man saunter out of the tent. As he looked to the card handed to him, he read the name upon it: Sebastian Shaw.

~&Q~

Some years later...

He wasn't sure he'd made the right decision. It was going back and forth in his mind. The circus offered him little anymore, Margali was married now and part of him felt like he no longer belonged. It had been years since this man had first visited him, but he'd never thrown away the card. His words had stayed with Alek all this time. Why did he have to live in the shadows? This world should belong to him as much as it did anyone else. This man, Sebastian Shaw, he was right. It was time Alek truly understood what he was.

"You made the right choice," a voice said, and he turned to see a young blonde standing in the doorway. She was stunningly beautiful, though couldn't be a day older than sixteen by the looks of it. "I'm 18," she said, making Alek raise a brow. Her fingers touched her forehead. "We all have our gifts, right Aleksandr?"

His eyes widened at her. "You can read my mind?" he surmised.

The girl nodded, taking a seat across from him. "Among other things. Though your own powers are nothing to laugh at. Teleportation? Incredibly useful."

Alek shrugged. "Can't do too much. A could of miles maybe. Nothing too crazy."

"Then you've definitely come to the right place," she smiled at him. "Sebastian is incredible. I have him to thank for helping get my powers under control." She paused, staring off into space. "You have no idea how crazy you feel when the voices start. It took so much time to understand I was hearing others' thoughts, and not simply losing my mind. Sebastian helped me to control it, and helped me to get stronger with it."

He nodded at her, and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "I had no idea there were any people like this," he told her. "This man came to me and until then I thought I was alone."

The girl shook her head. "You're not alone. None of us are. I'm thankful that Sebastian found me so I could know that."

"Emma," the man named Sebastian stood in the doorway. "Keeping our guest company?"

Emma nodded and stood. She leaned in to Alek, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "It was a pleasure to meet you Aleksandr. I hope we get to see more of each other." He watched her saunter out, and she gave him another smile over her shoulder before closing the door.

"She's lovely, isn't she?" Shaw asked him. Alek nodded. "Our people are so diverse, it's incredible. She's one of the most powerful mutants I have had the pleasure of knowing."

"Mutant," Alek repeated him. "You have said this to me before. What is mutant?"

"It's us," Shaw told him. "The next step in human evolution. The future. Each of us were born different, some obvious from birth while others not until their powers manifest in adolescence. We were given these powers, these unbelievable gifts, in order to take our world to the next step. By force if necessary."

Alek had never been a terribly violent person. His training from a young age gave him a base from which a violent person could absolutely be born, but he'd never seen the need for it. He shook his head a bit. "I do not know if I believe that."

"Just because you don't believe it doesn't mean it isn't true," Shaw moved closer to him and took a seat opposite. His hand reached out and gently traced the scar that lined his eye. Alek was uncomfortable with the sudden touch, and moved backward. "How many times have you been attacked? Simply for existing, for doing nothing other than what any other person can do any day? How long have you had to hide in order to stay safe?"

Alek wasn't sure how to answer. Shaw had a point. Many times he'd argued in his head over the inequity in his situation, how unfair he should have to have a lesser life because of how he was born.

"The humans are terrified of us. They lash out at us in violence because they know their time is coming," he said, leaning back into his chair again. "A dying animal will still fight back against it's killer, even as it's death is imminent. It's in their nature. The same is to be said of humans. They are on the verge of extinction, who is to blame them for lashing out against the next to inherit the Earth? Yet, that still does not excuse them." Shaw paused for a moment. "I simply want to make this world a safer place for us. A safer place for our children, and our children's children. By any means necessary."

There was little Alek could disagree with. It seemed a dream, that one day a child could be born like him and not a single person bat an eye. Shaw extended his hand and Alek looked at it a few moments, before finally taking it and shaking. The other man's face split into a smile. "Excellent. We will go down in history, son. One day, mutant children will read about the wars we fought for them."

Alek nodded with a small smile. The two men stood, and Shaw placed an arm around Alek's shoulder. "There is one more thing I require of you."

Alek lifted a brow. "What?"

"You need to shed from yourself any vestige of the human world," Shaw told him. "Leave it all behind and embrace our direction."

"What do you mean?" Alek was confused by this.

"Your name," Shaw continued. "You are not Aleksandr. Aleksandr is beholden to humans. He is living in their world, rather than creating a new world for his own. Dig deep. Find a new identity for our new world. One that will strike fear into the hearts of those who will oppose us."

Alek thought long. One name cycled through his mind, one that he had heard thrown at him in fear by ignorant people who'd tried to hurt him. There were many different versions of this name, but one in particular stuck out. He turned to Shaw. "Azazel."

Shaw smiled again, giving him a pat on the back. "Welcome to the family, Azazel."


End file.
